


Old Friends Senior Soldier Sanctuary

by herecomesbucktofuckshitup



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Backpack, Dumb Old Men, Families of Choice, Healing Powers of Jasmine Tea, Holidays, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Wise Old Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:25:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8657941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herecomesbucktofuckshitup/pseuds/herecomesbucktofuckshitup
Summary: “First Cap, then you. You know, all this excitement is bad for an old man’s health. Be dead or be alive, none of this wishy-washy in-between bullshit.”





	1. Chapter 1

The old man opened the door a crack, peering suspiciously from the available space. His eyes widened and the door followed as he placed his hand over his heart alarmingly. He glanced skyward, as if asking a question to the heavens, then looked back. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.  He glanced back and then called out, “Ellie? Ellie, can you come here a second, kid?”

The woman who came to the door was definitely not a kid. She had the similar features to the old man, with long black hair graying at the temples. “Dad? What’s wrong?” She looked sharply through the door, eyes darting over the visitor with a keen eye. “Who’s this?” She asked her father, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Can you get the photo of me and the boys? The one over the mantle?”  The old man asked, placing a veiny hand over his daughter's.

She glanced at the visitor again with an accusatory look, but followed her father’s directions. When she was out of sight, the old man reached for the impossibly young one on his doorstep. He hesitated when the young man rocked back on his heels, glancing away as if to run.

“Alright, alright.” The old man soothed, holding his hands out in front of him. “I ain’t gonna touch you. You can take it easy, now.” His voice held a soft grumble that the young man found familiar.

The woman came back, clutching a framed photograph. “Dad?” She asked unsteadily, looking from the picture in her hands to her father. “He looks like-”

The old man breathed out a sigh of relief and took the photograph from his daughter. “Thank god.” He laughed, holding up the picture so he could compare it to the young man’s face. “You had me thinking I was going nuts.”

He opened the door wider, ushering the young man inside, being careful not to touch him. “You better come in, Sarge.”

 

* * *

 

James Buchanan Barnes stared back at the Asset from his panel in the museum. He had a serious expression, but held a life in his eyes that was unfamiliar to the Asset. The Asset looked at this strange reflection of himself and thought that someone must have killed James Buchanan Barnes. Someone must have killed him and placed something evil inside his body.

_You’re my friend…_

The Asset turned away from Barnes and turned to look at the smiling laughing Steven Grant Rogers- a.k.a. Captain America. James Buchanan Barnes was there too, with an arm around the Captain and an easy grin on his face.

The Asset felt ill. The water poisoning from the fuel contaminated Potomac had left the body, and sustenance had been acquired and consumed. There was no reason for the Asset to feel unwell. Yet, looking into the condemning eyes of James Buchanan Barnes, he felt a sick sort of vertigo that left him nauseated.

He left the museum with more questions than answers and a frustration that refused to leave him. He came back the next day.

After a month of returning to the museum each day, he knew this:

 

  * Steven Grant Rogers-a.k.a. Captain America- a.k.a. Little Punk was a noble, self-sacrificing, annoying angel who’s voice stubbornly (always was stubborn) refused to leave the Asset’s head
  * James Buchanan Barnes’ smirk made men and women blush and stutter and give him free food
  * The only surviving members of the Howling Commandos were: Gabe Jones, Timothy Dugan, and Jim Morita.
  * Gabe Jones lived in France with his family. His wife, Phillipa Dernier; his daughter, Jacqueline Jones; and his grandchildren; Gabriel, Joan, and Alyse.
  * Timothy Dugan lived in Washington DC, in a nursing home for veterans. He had two sons with Karen, his ex-wife. Steven and Jimmy.
  * James Morita went to live in Chicago after his wife’s death. He now lived with his daughter, Eleanor, and her wife, Camila.
  * These people were Safe.



 

He kept all of this information in his journal, which he kept in his backpack, which he never took off.

Meanwhile, he was learning information about HYDRA. He got this information from the agents that the organization sent after him. He knew enough about interrogation tactics from his time as the Soldier to learn the truth about himself, one operative at a time.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you want tea? Of course you want tea. El baby, go make a couple of old fellas some tea.”

She nodded dazedly and went to the kitchen. Jim Morita groaned as he lowered himself into a comfortable looking armchair. He gazed at the Asset for a long moment, then gestured to the couch.

“Take a seat, warm your bones.”

The Asset did as he was told and sat across from Morita. He kept his backpack on, wary and ready to escape at a moment's notice. In his armchair, Jim Morita seemed not to notice, settling down in his chair as if he intended to stay there for a long while.

Eleanor came back with the tea tray and set it down on the coffee table between them. She poured them each a cup and kissed her father on the head, mumbling about needing to return to her office. Morita waved her off and reached for his cup with a grunt. He took a long sip, then eyed the Asset over the rim of his cup.

“Drink, drink.” He demanded, waving at the coffee table. “My Ellie makes the best tea. It’ll do you good, put some color back into your face.”

The Asset leaned over to grab his mug, then let the warmth sink into the skin of his flesh hand. He brought the cup to his face and breathed in the aromatic scent of the tea. It calmed him, made him feel grounded. He took a sip and shivered. The heat of the tea warmed his whole body in a way he hadn’t ever felt before. The tea could be poisoned for all he cared, it was one of the best sensations he’d felt since _“til the end of the line”._

As he gulped down the remainder of his tea, he heard the old man chuckling. The Asset sheepishly seat his mug back on the coffee table and Jim Morita did the same. The old man looked at him then, corners of his eyes crinkling.

“First Cap, then you. You know, all this excitement is bad for an old man’s health.” Morita’s voice was scolding, but his face was soft and kind. “Be dead or be alive, none of this wishy-washy in-between bullshit.” He leaned over and patted the Asset’s metal hand, not remarking on the unusual appendage at all. “You know, when Cap first came back, he had that same look about him. All distant and sad-like. Reminds me of the people we’d free from the camps. Hell, it reminds me of us back when we got out of Azzano. You especially, you had that thousand-yard-stare for a long time after Zola had you. You looked the same then as you do now.”

Morita looked away, and an ancient looking cat jumped into his lap. It’s eyes had clouded over with cataracts and it’s fur was patchy. It was too skinny and it looked like it had lost one too many fights. Morita placed his hand on the cat’s head and it purred loudly, pushing its face into his palm. Morita patted the cat a couple of times and looked back to the Asset.

“He liked the tea too. Cap, I mean. Never seen a pair of white boys enough jasmine tea that much. Must be all that time in the ice.” His gazed suddenly sharpened, and he looked at the Asset appraisingly. “How about you, Sarge? Were you frozen too?”

The Asset licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse from disuse. “Something like that.”

 

* * *

 

Another thing that the Asset always kept in his backpack was his file from HYDRA. He had stolen it from a bank vault in DC. The trip there had made him unsettled and caused his flesh hand to tremor for a whole week afterwards, but the information he gained was valuable to make the ordeal worth it.

He often cross-referenced the information in the file with what he learned from HYDRA agents and from the exhibits at the museum. Everything he learned went in his journal. This included information about Captain America’s current exploits (known HYDRA bases in Austria, Bolivia, Hungary, Sokovia, and Nepal gone up in flames), the Asset’s favored Starbucks order (a grande French Vanilla Latte with extra caramel and extra whip cream), a list of every known victim of the Winter Soldier (65 names and counting), Anything he could remember (cold, blood, pain, bullets, jazz, brylcream, needles, apple cake, lab coats, blond hair,)

Two months collecting information and haunting the streets of DC, and he is not the glacial danger of the Winter Soldier, nor is he the smiling warmth of James Buchanan Barnes. He knows now that he is not some evil that was placed inside the body of a pure man, but a flawed being that evil followed like a curse.

Eventually, the wind started to pick up a chill, and one day the children were all dressed up and wearing masks. They went door to door and asked for candy. The Asset panicked because he had nothing to give them. He simply stayed inside and watched from his windows, counting every tiny Captain America that passed.

Soon, there were ads for trees and toys and he was pretty sure that he remembered this, remembered a sad little tree and a voice saying _“aw, Buck you didn’t have to…”_ and he remembered a different holiday with candles and potato pancakes and a little girl with brown hair and spinning a top.

Soon, the world was asking the Asset what he was thankful for. He thought that he was thankful for lots of things. Not being in pain, little punks that miraculously turn into big punks, his backpack, his notebook, the things in his notebook, even the bad things, because they are memories and they belong to him and no one else. He’s thankful for museums, and children dressed as Captain America and for having a name, even if he chose not to use it quite yet. He’s thankful for the people he knows are Safe; Gabe, Dum Dum, Jim, Steve. He’s thankful that HYDRA is burning to the ground.

One day, the Asset is bringing food to Melvin. Melvin squats in the building that the Asset squats in. Melvin lost his leg in a war, though he won’t say which one. Melvin is not Safe, because he is unpredictable and loud, but he is an Ally, and sometimes the Asset brings him food.

“The holidays are a special time, Martin” (Martin was Melvin’s brother that he lost in the war along with his leg. He sometimes forgets that Martin is gone. It’s okay, because sometimes the Asset forgets things too) “A time to spend with your people. You got people?”

The Asset nodded and pushed another sandwich half toward Melvin. Melvin took it and continued. “You eat and share happiness with your people. The can be family, or they can be friends, as long as they're important to you. You all get together and remind yourselves why you love each other. And then after a few days, you go home. Too much of a good thing, you know?” He waved his sandwich half at the Asset and the Asset nodded once again, even though, no, he didn't know.

The Asset cleared his throat, “Your people, do they miss you when you’re gone?” He asked, and Melvin nodded vigorously.

“Yes, very much.”

The Asset thought about this. He thought that what Melvin described sounded really nice.

“Martin?” Melvin asked, and the Asset looked up. “Wherever your people are, you better go find them. It’s the holidays, you know, and I can fend for myself. People always give more during the holidays. And anyways, you deserve it. You ought to have too much of a good thing.”

So the Asset pulled out his notebook. The obvious choice seemed far too daunting for a relaxing holiday. Gabe was in France which was too far, and Dum Dum was in a nursing home which was too upsetting. That left Jim Morita. The Asset though that it was polite to give notice, but phone calls made him anxious and texting seemed to casual. So one day in late November, the Asset took a train to Chicago and knocked on the door of a very old man.


	2. Chapter 2

The Asset liked being called “Sarge”. It was familiar enough without holding the weight of personhood that James Buchanan Barnes’ names held. It's what Jim Morita called him. It's what Eleanor Morita-Rodriguez called him after a few stumbling tries of “Ja- um, Buc, uh, Sarge?”. Camila Morita-Rodriguez called him _lindo,_ which made him blush, but he didn't mind it.

The old deaf-blind cat was called Momo. She was inexplicably fond of the Asset, mewing loudly until he paid attention to her. He would pat her awkwardly until she would either curl up and fall asleep or get bored and leave.

“Momo is a good judge of character.” Jim promised him, scritching said cat behind her ears. “When she was just a kitten she followed my wife all the way home. Suki fell in love with her right then and there. Of course, she's always been wary of me. But now we’re both old and we’ve been through too much together not to trust each other.” Momo jumped off his lap then, meowing loudly.

“Yeah, yeah, I'll feed you, you old cow.” He muttered, pushing himself to his feet. The Asset watched them go, a strange warmth blooming in his chest.

One night, after the Asset had searched the apartment for bugs, checked windows for snipers, made sure everybody was breathing, and repeated this routine 5 times over, Jim had shuffled out from his room and sat down on the couch until the Asset sat next to him.

“Now, I’m curious outta my mind,” the old man told him, patting him on his knee. “And I know whatever it is that was done to you was something real bad. But I want you to know that whatever it was, it’s not enough to scare me off.”

In the silence that followed, the Asset listened to the noise of the city outside, familiar, but not quite right. He listened to the quiet whirring of his metal arm and to the labored snoring of Momo. Then, he took a breath and haltingly began to recount his time as the fist of HYDRA.

Afterward, Jim nodded slowly, got up, and took a walk around the room. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I’m gonna make some tea.” He said finally, and shuffled to the kitchen.

They talked for the rest of the night, the Asset taking long pauses in between thoughts. By the end of it, his throat was raw, as if he had been screaming.

The Asset tentatively let Jim read his file and some parts of his notebook. Then he tried not to protest as Camila and Eleanor did the same.

Jim said that it was a good idea, because Camila was what Jim called a “cut throat motherfucker” and what Eleanor called “a defense attorney, dad”. Camila promised that she would defend the Asset if things came to that. The Asset tried to tell her that he probably could defend himself, but she just laughed and called him cute.  

Eleanor was a doctor of a mind, or at least that’s how she tried to explain it. She wanted the Asset to describe his feeling and give them names.  She even printed out little cards, so that when the Asset couldn’t bring himself to speak, he could still express himself.

November turned to December and the Morita-Ramirez’s started setting up Christmas decorations. The Asset got to put the star on top of the tree. He helped Eleanor helped wrap the Gifts. Gifts are items that people give one another in order to show their appreciation. The Asset frowned when he realized that most Gifts are consumer commodities. It made him mutter unhappily about capitalist greed, which made Camila laugh and agree with him.

Even while Christmas seemed to be a godless capitalist holiday, the Asset decided he absolutely needed to show his appreciation for his friends. This lead to a very terrifying and humiliating experience at a horrible place called a Mall.

The Mall seemed to be a shrine to capitalist greed. It was loud, sticky, and filled with people with dead eyes. People kept shoving things at him and trying to engage in conversation. The Asset purchased a large cinnamon pretzel and braced himself.

For Jim, the Asset bought a heated blanket because he always complained of aches caused by the cold. For Camila, the Asset bought a travel coffee mug that guaranteed that it prevented spills. For Eleanor, he bought an aloe plant for her office; because they are hard to kill and extremely soothing. He also bought a bag of treats for Momo. As he was leaving, pleased with his purchases, something caught his eye. A set of watercolors. “65 Colors!” The label bragged, and the Asset raised his eyebrows. That was a lot of colors.

He bought the watercolors.

When Eleanor asked what the Asset would like for Christmas, the Asset cocked his head to the side. “I have everything I need.” He had answered and she had frowned and asked if there was anything he _wanted._ She asked if there was something that would make him happy. The Asset finally admitted that he was running out of room in his notebook and would like a new one.

The day finally came, beginning with orange juice and a giant breakfast made by Eleanor. The Asset ate waffles with chocolate chips until his stomach started to ache.

They sat down by the tree and passed around the Gifts and watched as Momo lazily attacked the ornaments.

The day was a Success. Everybody enjoyed the Gifts that the Asset got them, and the Asset received a very soft hoodie and a 3-pack of composition notebooks.

The Asset put on his very soft hoodie and began to fill in the first of the three notebooks about Christmas as Momo purred next to him. Eleanor began working on dinner, and Jim gave the Asset a beer and turned on the TV. They watched a game of football, which the Asset found uninteresting. Camila complained loudly about the game until Jim grudgingly changed the channel to a brightly colored animation about a reindeer. He sipped the beer and wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like it. He was about to take another sip, but realized he didn’t have to. 

“I don’t like this.” He said, and Jim grinned at him.

“More for me then.” Jim said, and took the glass from the Asset.

The Asset was helping Camila set the table for dinner when the doorbell rang. Eleanor jogged to answer it.

“Hel-lo?” The first part of the world was in greeting and the second in question. A deep male voice answered her, and the Asset stood stock-still.

Jim got up from his chair slowly, groaning as his joints creaked. He smiled at the door, but then glanced back at the Asset with a curious expression on his face.

“Cap! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” He said, jovial as ever. The Asset felt like he couldn’t move.

“Yeah. Sorry, I should have called.” The Asset could picture the Big Punk scratching the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“Well, a call would have been nice.” Eleanor giggled, high-pitched and nervous.

Camila placed a hand on the Asset’s flesh arm and he startled. She nodded amicably at him and headed for the door. Somehow, this soothed the Asset.

“Can I come in?” The voice asked.

“No!” Three voices blurted immediately.

“Uh, it’s just that we’re, um…” Eleanor started.

“Remodeling!” Camila chimed in.

“And it’s sort of a huge mess.” Eleanor added.

“Oh,” Said the voice, and it was sad, lonely. “Well, then, I’ll uh…” Footsteps retreated.

The Asset walked to the door. No one should be alone on Christmas. The several hours of animated movies taught him that much.

“Wait!” He called, and the retreating form froze. The Asset could see muscles in his back tensing, as if ready for a blow.

He turned, and the noise he made when his eyes fell on the Asset was the exact same noise he made when the Asset shot him in the stomach. Camila, Eleanor, and Jim all looked between him and the Asset in anticipation.

"I-I have a present for you." The Asset said, dumbly. 

Steven Grant Rogers- a.k.a. Captain America- a.k.a. Big Punk blinked wetly at the Asset. 

"It's watercolors." He told him, then glanced at Eleanor. "Oh. I wasn't supposed to tell, was I? It was supposed to be a surprise."

Eleanor patted him on the arm. "It's okay." 

The Asset nodded and turned back to Steve. "There's 65 colors." 

"For chrissake, Steve. Come inside. It's freezing." Jim said, ushering Steve in. He followed, stunned. He walked all the way in, his eyes never leaving the Asset's. 

The Asset shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable. "I'll go get it." 

He went to the room where he'd been staying and unzipped his backpack, surveying his wrapped parcel. He went back out into the main room and put the package in Steve's hands. Steve looked from the Gift to the Asset. 

"You're supposed to unwrap it." The Asset told him, because Steve was just standing there. 

Steve unwrapped the present and stared down at the watercolor tin. He licked his lips and looked up at the Asset. "I- thank you. I love it, Bucky." His voice was hoarse. 

"You're welcome." The Asset said, smiling. He didn't even flinch at the name. It sounded right when Steve said it. 

Steve just stared at him, as if he was memorizing his face. 

"I'm sorry for shooting you. And for breaking your face. And for shooting your friends." The Asset said, because apologies were important. 

"It's okay." Steve said. "You were confused." 

"I'm still pretty confused." The Asset told him, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "But I promise not to hurt anyone again."

"Can, uh, can I hug you?" Steve asked, eyes glistening. The Asset considered it for a moment. 

"Okay." The Asset agreed, and Steve lunged forward. The Asset tensed, but melted into the gentle embrace. 

They had dinner. Steve gave Jim and Eleanor and Camila their presents and apologized to the Asset for not having one for him. Steve had not be reminded to eat and stop staring at the Asset. The Asset smiles at him, happy to have him close. 

They watch some more Christmas films, and Steve insisted on washing the dishes. They had hot chocolate, which was infinitely better than the beer. Steve sat next to him on the couch, inching carefully closer to the Asset throughout the movies. 

The Asset thought that they probably have a lot to talk about. But it could probably wait until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays you guys! Please leave kudos/comments to feed a poor writer's self-esteem!
> 
> You guys are seriously the best. I'm on [Tumblr!](http://here-comes-buck-to-fuck-shit-up.tumblr.com/) Come say hi.


End file.
